The Girl Who Ate Everything

[I interrupt this Parisian patisserie love-fest for a semi-brief New York fooding update.]

I've been to Otto, the popular reasonably priced member of Mario Batali's restaurant empire, a handful of times in the past few years for its super thin-crust pizza. Do they make my favorite pizza in the city? Not necessarily, but it's good enough that I keep going back, although not mindblowingly so. The gelato, possibly the best in the city, is the main draw for me.

But man, I've been doing it wrong all these years. Totally wrong. SO WRONG, I HAVE DONE. Kathy already discovered the trick to doing Otto right, that is, by skipping the pizza and going for the vegetable-based side dishes and generous pasta dishes. For some reason my brain barely registered that that half of the menu existed and I always overlooked it.

I went to Otto last Thursday with two Kathy-approved dishes in mind: English peas & prosciutto, and pasta alla norma. But first, the wait.

Fuck you, Padova, party of 5!

If you want to experience the frustration of waiting at an Italian train station for a train that seems to have fallen off its track and exploded, just go to Otto after 8 p.m; it's almost as painful. Okay, it's a small fraction of the pain, but seeing the Italian city names (which correspond to each party's ticket) flicker on the Italian train station schedule-esque reservation board next to the hostess's table reminded me of waiting in Venice for "the train to Bologna that did not exist." We waited at a table in the bar area, turning our heads at every flick flick flick indicating a possible relocation into the dining room, and groaning many times over the hour it took for a table to free up for our party of five (Lee Anne, Kimberly, Poonam, Danial, and me). On the bright side, our stomachs were frothing with anticipation and hungorz when we were finally seated.

Continuing the last two entries' themes of "Tasty Things in Paris," here's my final look at tasty things in Paris, accompanied by quotes from Patisseries of Paris.

Boulangerie-Patisserie P.P. Colas

Weeee, food.

"Stop into Boulangerie-Patisserie P.P. Colas for its patisserie or pain du jour, seasonal specialties presented on the blackboard out front."

I remember P.P. Colas very well—it was one of the first bakeries that I went to in Paris (it was near my school) where I felt like the woman behind the counter found me about as desirable as a smelly hobo. (And just so you know, I wasn't particularly smelly that day, nor dressed as a hobo.) I picked a random sandwich for lunch and got the hell out of there. The sandwich was unremarkable, but that was probably because it was made with some kind of soft, skinny, fluffy roll, not a baguette. Their baguette de tradition was pretty awesome, like most baguettes de tradition tended to be. They also sold huge-ass macarons—not necessarily the best, but satisfying, and the chocolate one reminded me of a brownie.

On subsequent visits I was served by very nice people. The first time was just unfortunate.

Duckie!

I love it when restaurants use their specialty eviscerated prey as a mascot. Peking Duck House didn't have a particularly tacky design on their flag—just a good ol' duck wearing a chef's hat—but if you thinking about it long enough (which is apparently something you're not supposed to do), you realize how odd the image is. Is the duck preparing to cook itself? Its friends? Is it just a really stupid duck?

Who cares. Let's get to the good stuff: roasted duck meat. Hooray!

Nom nom.

"Whoaa, did you see that?" asked Kathy as her eyes trailed a waiter carrying a plate of fried stuff past our table. "What is that?"

"You mean the plate full of fried stuff?"

"YES, OH MY GOD, I NEED THAT."

Those weren't her exact words—this dinner at Fiore did happen about a month ago—but it's close enough. She looked about ready to lunge at the waiter, her face paralyzed with that wide-eyed, gaping mouth sort of amazement and longing that only a plate piled high with fried calamari and zucchini sticks could bring. Or a giant funnel cake. Or something else that's fried and awesome.

Unfortunately, we hadn't ordered the subject of Kathy's amazement, the fried calamari and zucchini, but I had eaten it during subsequent visits with Ed and again with my mom. If Kathy had ordered it during out dinner, I'm pretty sure she would've loved it. The calamari were tender, lightly battered, and perfectly fried, and the zucchini tasted mostly of...um, batter, considering they were of near matchstick-thickness—not that I have anything against that. Fried batter is pretty tasty on its own—add some salt and rosemary and you've got Fiore's version. The portion is frighteningly generous for only $7 (or $6; I can't remember), something I suggest sharing between at least four people.

[Introductory note: I DUNNO WHAT HAPPENED TO THIS ENTRY BUT IT KEPT GOING AND THEN IT DIDN'T GO ANYWHERE, sorry.]

Mmm, cheez.

I'm starting with this photo of the Bufalina D.O.C from Toby's Public House because it's pretty. With the shimmering oil splodges. And the plops of buffalo mozzarella. And the flecks of basil. It takes me back...way back...to last Tuesday when I ate dinner with Nick.

What is it about buffalo mozzarella that makes it an irresistible pizza topping? Think about why you like regular fresh mozzarella—the sweetness, the creaminess, the creamy sweetness, the sweet creaminess, cow—and intensify it to the second power. Mozzarella that's sweeter and creamier. Thank god for those buffalo and their magically tasty lactations.

Sundae!

Sweet Melissa Cremerie

The pistachio truffle sundae from Sweet Melissa Cremerie sounded promising, but knowing that few pistachio ice creams use the nut to its highest potential, I kept my expectations low. Not even Otto gets it right and I consider their gelato to be the best in the city (the olive oil gelato cancels out all wrongs). Unfortunately, Sweet Melissa's ice cream was boring and low on pistachio flavor. The texture was smooth and creamy and there were crunchy pistachio bits in every other bite, but that doesn't really make up for "blah" pistachio ice cream.

I meant to have an entry earlier in the week, but I was distracted by that thing called TV. But not normal TV, which is bad enough; I'm talkin' TV-whenever-I-want-it, which entails watching an entire season of Roswell. Dedicating yourself to a TV show takes up a lot of time—now I remember why I stopped watching it in high school.

BUT I CAN'T STOP UNTIL I'VE SEEN EVERY EPISODE.

Just thought you should know.

GELATO, IN THAR

Yes, I did that "eating dessert before dinner" thing again. But you have to go to Il Laboratorio del Gelato before eating dinner because they close at the non-post-dinner-friendly hours of 6 p.m. on weekdays and 7 p.m. on the weekend. Late night gelato cravings in the Lower East Side can also be fulfilled at the Il Laboratorio counter at Whole Foods, but it's not as fun as going to the original shop on Orchard Street, even if all that entails is going up to the tiny storefront window to place your order.

Mm, my cup

I ordered a small cup of strawberry and mint chip, two of my favorite flavors. Strawberry isn't a flavor that blows me away; it's just one of my reliable flavors, something that will satisfy and make me think, "It can't be too bad; there's fruit in it. Somewhere. Mixed with the sugar and milk." Mint chip, or any herb-based flavor, does have the potential to blow me away if it involves real herbs, something you can count on at Il Laboratorio. The mint chip had that refreshing, clean, somewhat vegetal flavor, or maybe I thought that because I imagined sniffing a mint plant. A good mint flavor (this one) mellows out my brain; a bad one (most others) stabs my brain with artificial coldness.

STUFF!

I couldn't stay away from Otto for long. I needed more pasta. I needed more side dishes. I needed...corn.

CORN

Or rather, Kathy and Lauren told me I needed corn. Not just any corn; corn and fregola. That's corn with corn kernel-sized semolina flour-based pasta, which is somehow better than corn by itself.

Fat.

I meant to update this earlier. Because I luff you.

But I'm slow. Anyone who's expecting an email from me knows what I'm talking about. But if you visit the awesome Serious Eats: New York (PLEASE VISIT; THEY PAY MY BILLS), you can read about the pork fat-tastic lechon kawali I had a Pistahan a few weeks ago. I plan on writing a fuller, more crazy-boppy entry about it, but I may not get to it for a while.

...Because I'm going to Virginia this weekend! Tomorrow it'll be me, Lee Anne, Tristan, and Lihan on the road to THE SOUTH. Yeah. To attend the Louisa County Agricultural Fair and camp in Tristan's backyard! And that's my 4-day vacation for the summer. So I better freakin' enjoy it.

I hope to return with tales of sheep and funnel cakes. Right on.